The Goddess Legacy

by Aimee Carter

  “See? He can’t even answer you,” I said, drawing myself up to my full height. “He loves me without trickery, and if I were here to spend time with him—”

  “But you aren’t,” said Aphrodite. “Don’t you see that? Hephaestus knows about my affairs—he knows this is something I need in order to be myself, and he accepted that long before we married. But Hades didn’t. Despite everything you’ve done to him, he loves you. He’s loved you for so long that it’s as much a part of him as the Underworld is now. And even though you have his unconditional, endless love, you have no problem turning your back on him and hurting him in the worst ways possible.”

  I opened my mouth to speak, fury building inside me faster than I could release it, but she kept going. She stood only inches in front of me now, her nose practically touching mine, and it took everything I had not to throttle her.

  “You’re selfish, Persephone. You’re the most selfish person I’ve ever met. You hurt Demeter. You hurt Hermes. You hurt Hades so badly that he’s nothing more than a ghost of who he was before you ripped his heart out and fed it to the dogs. You hurt people again and again, and the worst part about it is that you don’t care. You can claim to love Adonis all you want, but he’ll never have all of you. And one day, you’re going to hurt him the way you’ve hurt everyone else in your life, and I won’t let that happen.”

  I stared at her, every word I’d planned to fling back in her face dissolving on my tongue. In spite of her many flaws, Aphrodite knew love, and she knew people. She could see the good side and the bad, and she, more than any of us, could weigh them against each other rather than rushing to judgment. And if that’s how the most understanding of us saw me—

  Maybe it was our battle over Adonis. Maybe it was my constant jealousy. Maybe she just wanted to win. But even so, she still wouldn’t say those things if she didn’t believe them.

  The weight of her words crashed down around me, leaving me shaking and exposed and vulnerable in a way I’d never been before. Was that what the entire council thought of me? Was that how Hades saw me? And Mother—did she believe it, too?

  Were they right?

  “I—” I swallowed. “I need to go.” Stepping back, I mustered what little strength I had left and said, “Cut him loose, Aphrodite. Give him his freedom. If you really love him…” I shook my head, and without giving her the chance to rub salt in my already gaping wound, I disappeared back to the Underworld. Back to Hades.

  Back where I belonged.

  * * *

  I stayed in the observatory for the rest of the night, not bothering to go to my chambers. Hades wouldn’t notice, and on the remote chance he did decide to come visit me, I needed to be alone.

  I turned Aphrodite’s words over in my mind again and again without reprieve. She was right, and I hated myself for it. I hated myself for every bit of it. But at the same time, she didn’t understand—she didn’t see the whole picture, the life I’d lived and the things I’d missed, things she’d never wanted for. She was loved wherever she went by everyone who set eyes on her. Me—I was the dreaded Queen of the Underworld. I was the person no one wanted to see, and when I did run across the rare mortal on the surface, they all fled. Except Adonis.

  To Aphrodite, he was nothing more than an exceptionally beautiful toy, but to me, he was everything I’d never had before. She didn’t understand that—how could she, when her world was saturated with love? She would never be alone. She would never face an eternity of loneliness and heartache. But that was my reality, and no matter how good a judge of character she was, it simply wasn’t in her capacity to understand that.

  By the time morning came, I itched with the need to defend myself. For a few minutes, I debated going up to the surface and giving her a piece of my mind, but it wouldn’t do any good right now. I needed her to understand, and in order to make that happen, my argument had to be perfect.

  I dragged myself to the throne room at the appointed time, and when Hades trudged down the aisle, I was already seated in my throne. The way he eyed me confirmed he knew I hadn’t spent the night in my chambers, and I made a mental note to straighten that out later. He deserved the truth. And an apology.

  At last the judgments got under way. They were routine, for the most part—mortals who hadn’t believed in the afterlife, or mortals who had believed, but had never anticipated what it might be like. A few children mixed in with the adults as well, and those judgments always hurt the most, seeing their young lives over before they’d begun. Hades and I had agreed long ago that they would always be granted their happiest memories regardless of whatever hell a handful of them thought they deserved.

  The throne room was full that day, and by the time evening came, we’d barely made it through half. Hades and I had other duties as well, of course, but neither of us halted the proceedings. I stole a glance at him, searching for signs of fatigue, but he was as stoic as ever. And I was too keyed up from my fight with Aphrodite to stop, either.

  A woman moved to the spot before us where countless other souls had stood. Her hair was long and stringy, and her hands shook as she regarded us with a wavering gaze.

  “I know that because of my misdeeds, I am to be banished to an eternity of fire and brimstone to dance with the devil himself,” she said, her voice shaking as much as her hands. “But I beg of you—I only acted out of love.”

  “And what are these acts of which you speak?” said Hades in a low voice. The woman winced.

  “I—betrayed my husband. But he wasn’t good to me, your majesty. He had little love for me, and after a time, I could no longer love someone who didn’t love me back. I cherished my vow to him for as long as I could, but—when I met someone else, someone who loved and appreciated me…”

  She broke down, and I glanced at Hades. Was this his idea of a joke? His brow was knitted, however, and he clutched the arms of his black-diamond throne. No way he’d planned this.

  Our eyes met, and he quickly looked away. So he was aware of the irony, as well. Not that adulteresses were all that uncommon, but this woman’s story tugged at me in a way none of the others before her had. Maybe it was because of Aphrodite, or maybe Adonis—whatever it was, I ached for her.

  “This other man,” I said, and the woman focused on me, wringing her hands desperately. “He made your life worthwhile?”

  “Yes,” she whispered. “He made me content. He made me feel as if I were loved.”

  “Yet you took a vow to remain faithful to your husband,” said Hades. “Did you believe your affair to be wrong, despite how it made you feel?”

  Her eyes watered. “Y-yes.”

  “But what good was her vow when it was choking the life out of her?” I said, turning toward Hades. “What’s more important—a few words in front of family and friends, or her entire life’s happiness?”

  “Yes, what is more important, Persephone?” he said. “Her virtue or her own selfish desires?”

  I clenched my jaw. There was that word again—selfish. So that was how he saw me, as well. “How can you call her selfish when all she was trying to do was find some small joy in her life?”

  “And how can you not see the pain and humiliation she must have brought upon her husband?”

  “Maybe if he’d listened to what she wanted, she would’ve never had to stray.”

  “Perhaps if she gave him a chance to prove himself, she would have never felt the need to break her vows to begin with.”

  I slammed my hand onto my armrest. “And maybe if she’d had a choice in the first place—”

  The doors to the antechamber opened suddenly, and Hades and I both looked up, along with every soul in the throne room. Hermes stood in the doorway, and upon seeing everyone staring at him, he turned pink and hurried down the aisle.

  Hades sighed and leaned back in his throne. “What is it, Hermes?”

  Hermes glanced at me, his lips pressed together, and he hesitated. “I’m sorry for interrupting—”

  “Then get on
with it,” said Hades. I glared at him, but he stared straight ahead. Bastard.

  Hermes shuffled his feet, his brow furrowed and his eyes glued to the marble floor. All my pent-up anger drained away, and my heart sank. Whatever it was couldn’t be good.

  “It’s Adonis,” he said. “He’s dead.”

  Part Three

  Naturally Aphrodite was responsible.

  Not directly, of course, but close enough. Ares, who we all knew was the jealous type, had sicced a wild boar on Adonis the moment Aphrodite had left his side. Why she hadn’t seen that coming, I didn’t know—more important, why she’d put Adonis in that sort of danger, knowing Ares might try to take revenge…

  It didn’t matter. Adonis was a citizen of my realm now, and I sat frozen in my throne as Hermes explained what had happened. Hades dismissed the remaining dead, leaving the three of us alone, and the tension was as high as ever between us. I’d searched the faces of the departing souls, but Adonis wasn’t among them. No surprise there, really. Only a small percentage of our subjects needed to be judged.

  “I’m sorry,” said Hermes once he’d finished his horrific story. Adonis had bled to death on the bank of a river, and nausea rolled through me as I imagined his blood mixing with the water. How long had it taken him to die? How badly had it hurt? Had Ares stood there, watching the life drain out of him?

  “Do not apologize,” said Hades. “For once, this is not your doing. Persephone?”

  It was the first time he’d addressed me all winter. I looked up, blinking away my tears. There was no point in crying. I couldn’t change the pain Adonis had gone through, and at least now he was safe from Aphrodite’s games. “I’m all right,” I whispered. “I need to go.”

  His lips thinned, but even though he must’ve known exactly where I was going, he nodded. “Very well. Make it quick.”

  I stood, and without bidding them goodbye, I pushed myself through the space between myself and Adonis’s new eternity. In that split second, a barrage of images flashed through my mind—possibilities of his afterlife. The shore where we’d first met. Mother’s cottage. Even his childhood home, which I’d never seen, but he’d told me about in passing. What were Adonis’s favorite memories? Which ones would he want to surround himself with for the rest of forever?

  I held my breath as my feet landed on solid ground once more. Instead of the green forest I’d expected, however, swirls of white surrounded me, and something soft and cold brushed my cheek. Snow.

  My feet were buried in several inches of it, and it fell heavily from the gray sky, thick enough that I couldn’t see my hands. This couldn’t possibly be right.

  “Adonis?” I called. I must’ve managed to land on the edge of another soul’s afterlife. One step in the right direction, and this would melt away, returning me to the familiar. “It’s me—where are you?”

  A groan cut through the silence, and my heart leaped into my throat. I scrambled through the drifts of snow, unused to moving around in it. We didn’t exactly get any at Mother’s cottage during the summer.

  My foot caught on something, and I flew forward, landing on my hands and knees. With my nose to the ground, I saw a patch of crimson leading to a soft mound only a few feet away. And visible through the snow were several locks of familiar blond hair.

  No. Not possible. My body turned to ice, and I forced myself to move toward him. Brushing the snow away, I found the mangled remains of a torso slowly healing itself, and my stomach convulsed.

  “Adonis,” I whispered, brushing away the rest of the snow to reveal his face. His cheeks were as white as the world around us, and his eyes were dull and his lips blue. He blinked slowly, as if every effort to move was a war, and I gently gathered him up.

  “Per-Persephone?” he whispered, hoarse.

  “Yes, of course.” I brushed a few flakes from his forehead. “Come. We’re going to get you out of here.”

  “No.” A drop of strength returned, and gritting his teeth, he tried to move from my grip. But he was too weak and I was too determined to never let him go again. “You—you have to—”

  “I have to what? Let you suffer like this?”

  “I deserve it.” He slumped against me. “Please.”

  “You don’t deserve this. No one deserves this.”

  “I do. For…for hurting you. Aphrodite. Your families.” He took a great shuddering breath, and a river of blood flowed from his healing body. What had done this to him? “I saw the look on Hades’s face—”

  A roar ripped through the quiet, and a great white bear appeared through the veil of snow. It bared its teeth, its muzzle stained with red, and its paw lashed out at me. Sharp claws clashed against my skin, but it did no damage. And I wasn’t going to let it hurt Adonis again, either.

  “Be gone,” I ordered. “I am your queen, and you will obey me.”

  It let out another roar, standing tall on its hind legs. “Please, let me…” whispered Adonis, and I held him closer.

  “No,” I said desperately. “You don’t deserve this. It was never your battle, all right? Please—you can make this better for yourself. You can control it.”

  The bear struck again, and as its claws caught my face, I screamed. Not in pain, not in fear, but with unadulterated fury. At myself, at Aphrodite, at this damned and miserable place—this couldn’t be Adonis’s eternity. It couldn’t.

  With a thought, I dragged him through the space between his section of the Underworld and the palace, leaving the bear behind. A swirl of snow puffed around us as we landed in the throne room, and in my arms, Adonis groaned. His wounds healed instantly, and his color returned far faster than it would have if he were still alive, but his face still pinched in pain.

  “Persephone.” Hades stood. “What are you doing?”

  “He was torturing himself,” I said, helping Adonis sit up. His expression was blank, and he showed no surprise at suddenly appearing in a palace. Not many souls realized where they were, but Adonis should’ve known.

  “So you removed him from his afterlife?”

  I wrapped my arms around Adonis. “I had no choice.”

  “But it was not your choice to make.”

  “A bear was eating him alive in the middle of a blizzard,” I snapped. “I don’t care what his religion or beliefs dictate. What did he ever do to deserve that?”

  Hades’s expression remained painfully neutral. “Some might say that having an affair with not one, but two married goddesses might very well be enough of a catalyst to make him believe he deserved eternal torture.”

  “He makes me happy.” My words were thick, and I clung to Adonis. Hades wouldn’t have his way, not this time. “We have to fix this.”

  “You know the rules. If a mortal does not ask for our guidance, we do not tamper with their afterlife.”

  “I don’t care about your damn rules. I care about Adonis.”

  “And what of me?” said Hades softly. The pain that had faded during those eons of peace between us flickered across his face, the first hint of emotion I’d seen from him in months. “You are asking me to go against my own laws and condone your affairs.”

  “I’m asking you to do the right thing. You once told me that all you wanted was for me to be happy. Is that still true?”

  Silence, and at last he nodded.

  “Adonis makes me happy. He makes me happier than you or Hermes or anyone ever has. Not because he’s beautiful, but because we’re two halves of the same whole. I found my person, Hades. And I am so sorry—sorrier than I can ever possibly tell you—that it isn’t you. But it’s Adonis. And I would give up everything to make sure he’s all right, even if it meant I could never see him again. It would hurt like hell, but I would do it if it meant getting him out of there.” I shifted. “Please. I am begging you—do something.”

  Hades closed his eyes, his face crumpling. It was the closest I’d ever seen him come to crying. For a long moment he said nothing, and Hermes looked back and forth between us as if deciding wh
ether or not to speak.

  “I am sorry,” said Hades, his voice nothing but feeble words and anguish. “You know as well as I that there is nothing. The only person who can change his afterlife is Adonis himself.”

  “Then—then what could make him change it?” I said. “Could we reason with him? Make him see that it’s my fault, not his? Could you—forgive him or—”

  Hades looked away, the firelight reflecting in his watery eyes. No, he would not forgive him, and my face burned with shame for even asking. Besides, Adonis wasn’t the one he had to forgive. I was.

  I buried my face in the crook of Adonis’s neck, rocking him back and forth. He couldn’t go back there. I would’ve given anything—my freedom, my love, my entire existence to make sure he didn’t, but what did I have that could possibly change his mind?

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you. Please don’t do this. Please—isn’t there something you want more than to torture yourself?”

  He took my hand and brushed his thumb against my palm. Me. He wanted me. Even in the blizzard, he’d called out to me, letting me save him well past the point it should’ve been possible.

  An idea formed in my mind, something so crazy and preposterous that I discarded it immediately. But it cropped up again before I could move on, burrowing itself into my thoughts, refusing to let go.

  It was mad. Beyond words. Even as I struggled to find something real, however, it persisted.

  I could do it with the council’s permission. It would shatter everything, and there would be no going back, but if I did—if Adonis really loved me the way I loved him—it might be crazy enough to work.

  “Hermes,” I said in as steady a voice as I could muster. “Would you please help Adonis into one of the guest rooms and keep him company? I need to speak with my husband alone.”

  “Of course,” mumbled Hermes, and he helped Adonis to his feet. Adonis stumbled, but he managed to right himself, and at last he let go of my hand. But even as the pair of them walked up the aisle, his touch still lingered on my skin.